I was writing up a new staff pick today (I stockpile them) when Bear walked by and read what I had written over my shoulder:
Miss Print: “Wow. You can read my handwriting. That’s better than my entire family.” [It’s true. It earned him a high five.]
Bear: “It’s not that bad. Let’s just say that Lisa had to be my scribe for the two staff picks I wrote up.” [That’s right, two picks. That earned him a mental high five that I never actually told him about.]
Miss Print: “Your handwriting can’t be that bad. Show me.”
Bear demonstrates . . .
Miss Print: “That does look a little deranged.”
Bear: “It looks like the writing of a psychotic four-year-old.”
Miss Print: “Is this why you didn’t want to do staff picks at first?”
Bear: No response . . .
Also, to be totally fair, I know my handwriting is mediocre so I am very careful when writing for “public consumption” to be sure that I print (no cursive) in very clear, careful letters. Bear was more, shall we say, honest in his own demonstration.